The Misfiled Diaries  Book 1
by Igor of Xten
Summary: Found in the boot of a Ford Merkur which had been pulled from Long Island Sound but now a 'cold case', Prof. Emil Dunsany of Miskatonic U. and Lt Juliet Swain, Tempest PD, re-open this case from the vaults, these lost files, these Misfiled Diaries
1. Emily: A World Turned Upside Down

_Twelve notebooks are found in the boot of a Ford Merkur pulled out of Long Island Sound, sealed in a tin which is welded shut. With no evidence of foul play they are officially a dead end, a 'cold case'._

_Prof. Emil Dunsany, of Miskatonic University and Lt Juliet Swain, Tempest Police Department, are unconvinced and fear for the safety of the two young women who have written them, Ash and Emily. In a last ditch attempt to re-open the case, they dig the files out of the Police Department's vaults. They should never have been classed as a closed case. They were ..._

**The Misfiled Diaries  
>Book 1<strong>

_Misfile Fan Fiction Written By_  
><strong>Igor von Xten<strong>

This is a fan produced work based on

**Misfile**

a web comic written by Chris Hazelton and updated daily

The copyrights & trademarks of Misfile are owned by Chris Hazelton.  
>Any attempt to sell or rent this work should be reported to the copyright owner for his action.<br>The author reserves the moral right to be identified as the creator of original material.

Talk about this series on the Misfile FFN forum

First edition 28/09/10 - Napalmluck  
><span>Second edition 1711/11 - 

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><p><strong>AUTHOR'S FOREWORD<strong>

_Misfile is a web comic by Chris Hazelton, released daily, about a girl who loses two crucial years out of her life, a boy turned into a girl and the drunken, pot smoking angel who is responsible for it all. Its cute, its good fun and... it got me thinking. Chris has done a great job of showing the drama of growing up but I thought there was a lot that could be said, that the characters would say, if only to themselves like, maybe... in their diaries?_

_I get pretty deep at times because I want you to question yourselves as well, you might be surprised at the answers!_

_I'll be the first to admit that with everything that was going on in their lives, writing it down into a diary would be pretty low in their priorities, but we are talking about fantasy here so cut me some slack, ok?_

_This is a fan fiction series made up of "flash fiction" of between the episodes type pieces. I'm Australian so I write in the Queen's English - get used to it, it's me – but my characters are American so I've tried valiantly to keep what they say and how they say it as close to canon as I can. If I've broken canon it has been over points that I don't believe make a major difference, such as whether they are playing volleyball and not basketball._

_I've added a little to the canon, but always tried to keep faith with the characters. Ash acts so much like a guy's guy that there has to be a story behind it, and I truly believe that Emily has much more to give than we see in the web comic._

_But that is the nature of fan fiction, isn't it? Trying to recapture the essence of what we like about something? Create a resonance with the original rather than a copy._

_No, I won't be giving every page of Misfile the same treatment but there's still a lot more fun to be had with this. If you think its fun, follow the comics and buy the books – its Print On Demand so the writer gets a bigger slice of your book-buying buck! (Say that three times fast!)  
><em>

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><p><strong>Introduction<strong>

_Lt Juliet M. Swain, Tempest P.D._

_The attached are extracts from twelve notebooks found in the boot of a Ford Merkur which was pulled out of Long Island Sound in July, 2009. The car was discovered by sports divers at the base of a 50 foot bluff on a lonely section of the coastline and forensic investigations show that it had been in the water between four to five years. It was heavily damaged from a side impact that had all but torn it in two, exposing the interior. The damage was consistent with the Merkur failing to take a curve at speed, on Interstate 95 where it ran along the top of the bluff, and then hitting rocks on the way down._

_The notebooks, of varying types and makes, were in a tin which seemed to have arc welded shut and was in a duffel bag along with a number of items of men's clothing including a T-shirt with "Have a Day" printed on it._

_No human remains were found in the car, but the exposure of the car's interior and the prevailing currents would have quickly swept any occupants away from the crash scene._

_The car was registered to a Miss Ashley Upton and initial inquiries came to a dead end when it was found that she had moved out of town about the time the car must have crashed after a minor, unspecified scandal. The two Canadian brothers mentioned in the notebooks, Rumisiel and Vashiel and a friend, Miss Emily Macarthur disappeared at the same time._

_Miss Macarthur's mother and Miss Upton's parents, Dr Edward Upton and Ms Marie Upton of Cape Cod, insist that they are in touch with their daughters, who they say are following the European racing circuit but cannot give a current address, nor have inquiries with Interpol brought anything up._

_With no concrete evidence of foul play and inquiries having reached a stalemate after 9 months, this was deemed a cold case in November 2010 and handed over to my department for archiving. I am not convinced that the individuals involved are safe, the reports from Europe could be identity theft, and have taken it upon myself to continue my own investigations._

_Upon closer examination, the notebooks contain what appears to be an attempt by the two girls to write a collaborative fantasy fiction although Prof. Emil Dunsany, head of the forensic literature department at Miskatonic University, has said that there is sufficient internal evidence to support a stylistic profile consistent with an occasional diary or journal. His psychological profile of the authors, based on this, is inconclusive, showing them to be at the same time sincere and deeply disturbed._

_At Prof. Dunsany's suggestion I have clipped and collated sections of the notebooks for publishing here in my best attempt at chronological order. I hold grave misgivings for the safety of these two young women and I hope that publishing their writings will encourage members of the public to come forward with new information that might shine some light on their ultimate fate._

* * *

><p><strong>1<strong>

**A World Turned Upside Down**

**Emily**

Overnight, my world has been turned upside down.

I went to bed last night over the moon about having been accepted into Harvard. All the hard work and sacrifices had paid off! Goodbye to snobby wanna-be Valley Girls and being labeled a study geek just because I was focused on where I wanted to go and what I wanted to be. The acceptance letter had been proudly propped up on my bedside table as I'd sunk into sleep expecting to dream of sunny quadrangles, preppy friends who knew how to write more than a fan fiction and do more than consumer maths.

This wasn't just any college either, this was the college: Harvard! I'd put nearly as much work into my admission portfolio as I had into my SAT scores! I'd spent two back-breaking years creating a stunning academic record, writing an application essay that could have won a Pulitzer and even faked extracurricular activities I'd had no time for whilst buttering-up the principal to get a letter of recommendation that made me sound like a saint!

Harvard! The gateway to whatever I wanted to do! Law, medicine, science, industry, my scores and subjects were wide spread enough so that I could choose just about any field I wanted, any career that took my fancy!

And here I am now, scribbling in my study diary, huddled in a stranger's driveway, because it's all gone.

All. Gone.

Unless I do it all over again.

It's too much to ask. Just thinking about it has me sobbing like a.. like a sixteen year old. I know I can do it, but knowing what I have to do to achieve it again is... it's asking too much! I've paid my dues! I've done my time! I should be looking forward to winding up my courses, graduation celebrations and vacation... not another two years of Hell!

My Mom's chewed me out tonight because, to her, this is just the start of the big uphill grind and she expects to see me do exactly what I did do two years ago: give up my weekend - my life - to study!

The sad thing is that Mom doesn't realize that I got myself into Harvard, not because of her pushing _but in spite of it_! That the only way she helped was by becoming part of the world that I wanted to leave behind.

I couldn't tell her. Because I love my Mom, I couldn't tell her that what she was doing was making me hate her.

All over again.

So I've run away to sit on a stranger's doorstep filling my study diary with secrets I can never tell anyone...

...except a stranger.

.

**_Lt JMS_**

_The earliest extract is from a comb bound file, hand-written on Letter size pages. No detective work was required to find these since they were not mixed in with anything else. It is surmised that Emily wrote them in the expensive leather study diary that she habitually carried and then bound them in a separate binder as she did with all her school notes. The only form of camouflage the file had was the title on the cover, "English Lit.; Speculative Fiction"._

_The notebook is easily identified as belonging to Emily Macarthur from fingerprint and handwriting samples although when shown, her mother had no knowledge of it (see appendix 3). Written throughout in her even, clear italic script, it is very organised and neat, totally at odds with the turbulent nature of its content. _

.

**_Prof. Dunsany_**

_Whilst it is very commendable for Miss Macarthur to be so thorough and organized in her study regime - all her subjects were similarly bound with clear plastic front and back covers - it verges on obsessive compulsive behavior unless balanced by an element of play or recreation. The neatness and orderliness of her study diary and notes seems devoid of human warmth and personalization, reflecting a repressed and tightly controlled personality. _


	2. Ash: A Fantasy Classic

**2**

**A Fantasy Classic**

**Ash**

Sometimes I feel trapped, knowing that the world can never see the real me.

If you know me, you'll know me as a girl but what if I told you that inside I feel I should be a boy? That I've always felt like a boy and that all I want to be is a boy? Teenage sexual identity crisis, right? I suppose I'm not the only person who's growing up questioning who I am but, for me, its a little different.

I was perfectly happy with who and what I was until I woke up one morning to find myself a different person, someone I would never feel comfortable pretending to be. Is this making sense? It was as if I went to sleep as myself and woke up as someone entirely different, in another body. A body that I didn't want.

That's how I'm dealing with my problems, by playing with the idea of myself as a guy who is accidentally changed into a girl by an angel. Every day, forced to play a part that I know inside to be a lie. Forced to pretend to be someone I am not.

That would make a good fantasy don't you think?

Maybe even a comic.

.

_**Lt JMS**_

_The second notebook, which appears to have been written concurrently to the pages from Emily Macarthur's study diary, is a spiral bound, ruled, pocket notebook with "Aries Motor Mechanics" on the cover. The majority of the book contains neat workshop assembly sketches and scrawled parts lists that show that it was used for car maintenance work and, to a lesser extent, various school notes, mostly due dates for homework. It is not labeled as such, but from corroborating evidence it can be proven to belong to Ash Upton._

_The following was written on the inside front cover, but forensic and handwriting tests show that it was inserted after all the text in the rest of the notebook was finished._

.

_**Prof. Dunsany**_

_This was almost certainly written by Ash Upton who, from class mates statements, was given to dressing and acting like a tomboy. Taken on face value, this appears to explain that what she has written is fiction, however there are aspects of this that don't ring true. Her cursive script, for example, is a barely legible scrawl that I can tell you is uncannily masculine - not an easy thing to fake. This whole thing seems like an afterthought specifically addressed to us as readers and is totally out of character for a diary, not to mention a strange way to introduce a fiction._

_As regards her theme of being a boy in a girl's body, it is a common, constructive therapy amongst those who are exploring transgender lifestyles. However Ash's fiction is incredibly complete, in fact, as we shall see, one would be hard put to see any instances of femininity in her writing. If not for the evidence of her birth certificate, one might be persuaded to believe we were reading the diary of a boy._

_The strength and complexity of the illusion that she was building is disturbing and, speaking as a clinical psychologist, it reflects gravely on her mental health._


	3. Emily: Just Hanging Out

**3**

**Just Hanging Out**

(Between pages 44 - 48)

**Emily**

Today must have been the first Sunday in years that I haven't spent at least half the day studying and after my meltdown last night, what have I been doing all day that has been more important?

Car maintenance!

Not on my own car of course – thanks to Rumisiel I'm too young! - I helped Ash work on her car. Besides I haven't touched a car engine since the time I topped up the engine oil... well it seemed logical to me that "topped up" meant up to the top!

It came close to not happening though. I turn up on her doorstep a broken mess, spend the night, cook her breakfast and what do I get?

"I know there are probably places you'd rather be."

I honestly wondered at that point whether the real Ash was a male or a moron!

That was when it really drove home to me how screwed up Ash really was! She said it herself when she said just afterward, "Can't you just keep your insecurities bottled up until you just have to whup the stuffing out of someone like guys do?"

I may not know many guys, but I doubt that any of them would go through what had happened to Ash then just work on their car instead of working on a way to solve their problem!

Or maybe they would?

Ash is like a walking, talking sociology experiment, a chance to see male characteristics played out on a girl, but is she over-compensating? Was she really like this before her umm, change? Sure, she might look like a girl of roughly my age - pretty, nice figure, too – but you only have to be around her for ten minutes to realize that she isn't just pretending to be a guy: she's a guy's guy!

From the long stride and slouching posture to the way she talks, her mannerisms and attitudes... its kinda funny in a cute way sometimes and a bit gross and annoying at other times. Watching her eat breakfast for example was like watching a train wreck in progress and the way she crosses her legs, with the ankle on the knee, makes me think that she mustn't have a modest bone in her body!

In fact, she has none of a girls self-awareness. You know, that girl thing of not just doing something well but wanting to look good whilst you're doing it? Its just not there! She went the whole day today, working on her car, without one look at the oil under her nails, the dirt in her hair from crawling under the car or the state of her clothes.

Or maybe she's going to have to learn some modesty? She worked out pretty fast why wearing a bra was a good idea!

Maybe we both learned something? I'm not going to say that bottling up emotions is a good idea but maybe there is something to be said for just "chilling out"? I feel a lot calmer tonight, as if the tinkering on the car has put some distance between the trauma of yesterday and whatever problems tomorrow will bring.

Zen and the art of motor maintenance? Hah! Nothing so self-examining. Perhaps the exact opposite – relaxation from tension, concentrating on a practical problem, focusing your awareness on the moment, a suspension of critical thought whilst maintaining an awareness of what you were doing?

Or just hanging out with a friend?

Whatever it was it worked.

.

_**Prof. Dunsany**_

_The despair of Emily's previous entry is gone from this more positive tract. If we work on the premise that her real life situation was mirrored in some way in her fictional account, she seems to have found some way of handling it._

_I must admit to a considerable admiration for this young lady's powers of observation and analysis. Her questioning of Ash's indifference and her thesis on 'chilling out' as a form of meditation is sociologically sound and shows a certain awakening to her problem._

_What compounds the problem though is that Lt Swain tells me that Emily had been academically bright in the years leading up to this, but had not been forced to study an inordinate amount. Her mother says that at the date of this and the earlier entry, she had only just started putting pressure on her to perform well._

_Not only this but she only started taking sociology the following year, so her knowledge of sociological principles and texts, like "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance", is an unsettling anomaly._


	4. Ash: The Helper

**4**

**The Helper**

**Ash**

"You know your problem? Like a typical guy, you keep everything bottled up until it gets to the boiling point and then you burst. There's no halfway point for you, you either handle things or you make a major drama of them."

Emily was leaning over the bonnet of my car as I angrily swung shifters around, stripping and cleaning the filters on my car. They weren't due for a change for another three weeks but she wouldn't know that, I was just doing it to get out of making any more conversation with her than I had to.

"Look, you know I'll help if I can, but I can't be everywhere and in case you haven't noticed, I've got a problem of my own."

I got as far as the third bolt on the fuel filter before the inevitable happened. It wouldn't budge. I pushed harder. No go. Wedging my hips into the metalwork I put every ounce of strength into it. The spanner started to hurt my hands as my fingers started to slip and I gave up when I could feel that it was going to slip off the bolt

I stood back from the car. Damn right I was angry! This stupid body wasn't letting me do what I wanted to do

"What's the matter?"

"I haven't got the strength to loosen this bolt"

"So... does that mean we can go inside?"

Like Hell it does I thought!

"It means I get a helper."

"Hunh?"

It was an old joke but it still made me smile. I stepped across to the workbench on the wall and picked up a short length of pipe that I slipped over the end of the ratchet. Putting the socket securely on the bolt I grabbed the shaft of the wrench in my left hand and with the other grasped the end of the pipe which had effectively doubled the length of it's handle. Slowly increasing the pressure - my shop teacher would have had a fit if he'd seen me! - it only took a fraction of the strength to get the bolt moving.

Ten minutes later I was wiping the grease and oil off my hands and putting my tools away. I felt better, as I always did after tweaking my car. I had a race coming up and a car that felt bigger and subtly different. I'd obviously been driving it as a girl because the mirrors and seat were adjusted right. The difference was in me!

Two days ago it would have been a breeze but now? Emily is right. I am going to have to get my head straight if I am going to survive this.

.

_**Lt JMS**_

_A check of police records shows that Ms Upton was known as a street racer to the department but had never actually broken any road rules within our jurisdiction. My investigations of her friends in the street-racing community showed that she was well-known and well-liked, even respected as 'The King of The Mountain'._


	5. Emily: The Secret Study Buddy

**5**

**The Secret Study Buddy**

(page 50)

**Emily**

I haven't dreaded a day at school like this since... since my first day at High School.

I'd turned up that day at Tempest High with a knot of anticipation in my stomach because I knew that this would be the change from 'big fish in a little pond' to 'bug that floats on surface of black lake above evil monsters that lurk in the depths'. Sure I'd been Valedictorian of my year which had made Mom ecstatic but, once the excitement of leaving Tempest Junior High had settled, this had only spurred her on to expect even more.

Today, I was sick to my stomach, not from a fear of the unknown, but from despair at what I knew was going to happen!

My first class was Math

The one glimmer of hope I'd hung on to over the weekend had been that, if I've done it before, surely a second time around will be easier? Seeing the first problems spread across the blackboard made me realize that it wasn't going to be that easy.

It was pre-calculus and it had been hard going the first time I'd learned it. Today it was just a dim, two year-old memory. What I thought of as 'last week's work' on Naperian Logarithms was much clearer in my mind. It was like being grilled with a pop revision quiz on something that you'd thought dead and buried.

Sure, the course had been successful in giving me a clear introduction to the principles of calculus, but you don't get into Harvard because of your knowledge of a subject, you get there by scoring good grades in tests! I understood calculus but I couldn't remember the details of how to answer the problems that were being fired at me today.

I was going to have to learn it all over again!

I looked around the class at a room full of strangers. They were your average collection of kids... well to me they seemed like kids anyway. Last week I had been in the graduating year, the top of the food chain! I'd even found some time to make some money tutoring Kim, who had been sure to fail without someone to spoon-feed the course to her.

I went through the motions of sweating through the problems, making notes, recording homework, scheduling home study, it was all second nature to me now. My study regime was so much like a reflex action to me that I was doing it without even a thought for any other way. By the time we filed out of the class to get to our next period I felt like I was on a production line, a production line that ran all the way to the horizon and on and on until it fell off the edge of the world!

Between classes I spotted Molly, my bff, on the other side of the hall and without thinking, waved and ran over to her. Popular Molly, pretty Molly, Molly-the-boy-magnet.

"Molly! How are you?"

The two girls she had been talking to, both of them friends of mine until last week, turned to look with surprise at me and then back at Molly.

"Oh, hi Emily!" She turned to her friends, "Em and I have been friends since she was little. She's like, my secret study buddy!"

They all laughed as Molly turned back to me, smiling indulgently, "What's the matter, honey?"

"I was wondering what you were doing after school, do you want to go to the library to study?" After-school study at the local library had been our substitute for a social life for our senior years, although for Molly it had been more social than study since she had spent more time flirting and chatting than studying.

She laughed and came across to put a patronizing arm around my shoulders, "Look, I know you want to get a head start on next year, you've got the right idea, but I'm done with study now. In fact," I caught her tipping a wink at her friends, "I can help you out there! Have you any idea how much textbooks cost?"

The empty bookshelf where my textbooks - Oh please God don't let me have to read "Washington Square" again! - had been was one of the first things I'd noticed, mostly because they were crammed with pencil notes in the margins. Molly's wink made me suspicious though.

"Maybe, how much?"

I saw Molly's eyes eyes narrow as figures danced behind them.

"How about a hundred even for the lot?"

It was a testament to Molly's sheltered life that she had no idea how much her mom had spent on new books which I knew had hardly ever been opened. Even with fifty percent depreciation they were worth more than that and I could tell from the crafty look on her face that she was only concerned with how much she could get out of me.

My mom had bought me new textbooks as well, but each one had been budgeted for and handed over as if it were an early birthday present! At least this time around I could save her the expense.

"I'll talk to my mom and bring the money tomorrow, ok?"

Molly's eyes lit up and the three of them looked like they would have done a happy dance if I hadn't been there!

"So... what are we doing after school then?" As soon as I'd said it I knew I'd made a mistake. Molly's amused look confirmed it.

"Well, I don't know about you Em but we have guys to see, things to do and plans to make!"

Happily she turned to her friends – how had I ever thought that they were my friends? "Hey! We can go clubbing this weekend now!"

Grabbing their arms she turned them back down the hall and, almost as an afterthought, called over her shoulder, "See you tomorrow! Don't forget to talk to your mom about the books!"

There was no "we", not any more. I don't think there ever had been.

.

_**Prof. Dunsany**_

_Just as pre-teens want to read about teenagers, sophomores want to read about senior year and Seniors want to read about college life, perhaps Emily is 'projecting' into a graduating class? Is her alienation from her 'friends' a way of subconsciously rationalizing her situation?_


	6. Ash: Tigers

**6**

**Tigers**

(Between pages 49 - 50)

**Ash**

Day 3. No sign of Rumisiel. Must find him and kill him. Considered calling in sick to school, but decided I'd better get it over with, since I've skipped like eight days this semester already.

Damn! I wish life were simple! Things are soooo much harder for good guys and, yes, I consider myself a good person. Well, except for the occasional laziness, the impulsive mistakes and the time or two I've lost my temper.

As a rule I try to do the right thing, the fair thing. One of the things dad has always been strong on has been respecting privacy, I suppose it comes with the territory when you're a gynecologist, and because of that I appreciate my own privacy. I've had seventeen years of parents and teachers pounding it into me that girls had to be given their privacy, that even peeking on them was weird and taking advantage of them. That if they knew, they would be shocked and disgusted and that guys who didn't respect girls ended up as lonely perverts, shunned by society and ending up in jail.

You can have no idea how weird that made it for me to use the girl's john at school today.

I held on for as long as I could until I was nearly busting but that proved to be a mistake because once I got to the door I was so desperate that there was no turning back and I just had to plunge straight in! In a mad rush I couldn't even look around, I just dashed into the nearest stall with my head down, staring straight ahead.

Getting in proved to be the easiest part though because just as I was finishing I heard the bell go for the end of the period and the gates of Hell opened before me as a half dozen girls, with the same idea as me, burst into the toilet. If I sit here quietly enough, I thought, they might not notice me and I can just wait them out.

Bang! Bang! Bang! "Hey! Are you gonna be all day?"

I recognized the voice as being one of the girls who made a big deal of how cultured they were. Evidently culture doesn't extend into the toilet where all's fair in love, war and queuing for the can!

I couldn't stay – they knew I was there - but, irrationally I visualized them screaming as I came out of the door, knowing I was a boy! I swear the walls of the cubicle started moving in on me like a trap! I reached for the door handle as if there were Bengal tigers on the other side! Stay? Go?

Bang! Bang! "If I get in trouble because of this I'm gonna..."

I threw the door open and tried to shoulder my way past the tall, skinny girl who stood in front of it with her hands on her hips, mumbling a vague apology. She wasn't letting me go that easily though and made a grab for my shoulder as I hustled past. In a flash I grabbed her wrist and pushed her away, to collide with the girl behind her. She was more surprised than anything, squealing that I'd hurt her and whining as she rubbed her wrist, looking at me accusingly.

I swear to God it was just a reflex action! I might have grabbed her hand a little more roughly than I meant to but I am not a violent person - except the time I tried to strangle Rumisiel but that doesn't count - it's just...

I don't like being touched.

I mean, I _really_ don't like being touched.

Its not a big deal, its not a phobia or anything, its just a personal space thing. Maybe its because we've never been a very "huggy" family. Dad has been a bit distant ever since I started High School and I suppose its rubbed off. I've become the type of person who would rather stand than sit next to someone on a bus, I don't do group hugs and watching wrestling makes me queasy.

Its just a privacy issue, ok? I don't touch anyone and they don't touch me.

Anyway, I didn't stick around to debate the matter, and fled the toilet in a blind panic, half expecting them to start chasing me like an angry mob in a horror movie, and I didn't stop until I got to my next class.

Dammit, I'm here to tell you, loosing Big Jim and the Twins puts a whole new meaning to the term 'penis envy'! One year I'm writing my name in the snow and the next?

Welcome to sit-down city!

.

_**Lt JMS**_

_Briefly mentioned in the previous entry, the exchange student, Rumisiel, was a real person. Little is known about his background, other than his first name and the fact that he was Canadian. His High School records give his surname as deAngelo and extensive investigation by the Canadian R.C.M.P. have confirmed his background and has shown him to have no criminal record._

_His reputation locally was mixed. His academic record was very poor and as such there were a number of recommendations for his early return, none of which were ever acted on. He was generally popular and the staff and student body thought of him as an "amiable roughneck", an impression that is borne out by the number of alcoholics and drug users he mixed with. The references to him in these notebooks paint a slightly darker picture than this, especially the violent nature of Miss Upton's relationship with him which seems at odds with the fact that they were an inseparable couple. He seems to be blamed for everything and is cast as an angel in the girl's story - obviously a play on his surname - who causes their fantasy problems. This subtext makes me suspect that he might have had some sort of hold over the two girls that we do not know about, possibly criminal. Any new information about him is actively sought after._

.

_**Prof. Dunsany**_

_My purpose is not to psychoanalyze Miss Upton here, what she wrote was after all meant to be a work of fiction, I try to confine myself here to pointing out anomalies that might have bearing on her disappearance._

_The question we have to ask here is how much of this fiction reflects Miss Upton's real world? You'll notice that there is no mention of sexuality here, that instead she deals with privacy and personal space issues? Could these be an expression of a desire on the one hand to hide her feminine side and a sense of alienation from her gender of birth on the other?_

_Is Rumisiel and the 'misfile' as they call it, the key? Did he do something that precipitated her transgender crisis?_


	7. Ash: The Threads of my Life

**7**

**The Threads of my Life**

(Between pages 50 - 51)

**Ash**

You know, when all this is over, my head is going to be so screwed I'll probably be in therapy until I retire!

I've always thought of myself as being a pretty well adjusted guy, even considering the personal space thing, my aims and desires are pretty mainstream: a hot car, a girlfriend... financial security would be nice... world peace? I was well on my way with the first item on my list and I always supposed the rest would follow.

All semblance of normality has disappeared now as one by one the threads of my life are stripped away from me leaving nothing but tattered shreds. Even the little things, like my fantasies, are under attack. Even well-adjusted guys have fantasies, right? One of mine was about the girl's locker room and I'll never forgive Rumisiel for taking that away from me.

It was the fantasy that I was focusing on as I walked through the changeroom doorway and y'know, it almost felt like this could have a, um, silver lining. The voice of reason was saying that I was doing absolutely nothing wrong! At least for today, I was a girl and I had no choice but to get changed here. School rules said I had to be here, my teachers, even Sister Mary Stigmata would say I should be here!

And, I'll admit it, another part of me was running around like a lunatic inside my head going, wheeeee! I was gonna get a free floor show and I was doing nothing wrong! If I hadn't been in shock I would probably have had a silly grin plastered on my face from ear to ear.

At least, until I saw Melissa.

I wouldn't say we were friends, Melissa was just one of the gradually shrinking group that I'd known since grade school. She was a nice person who everyone liked, but was so painfully shy that you felt, I dunno, a bit responsible for her. Like on the first day of Junior High, seeing her crying on the steps amongst a bunch of friends who were trying to be supportive - even I'd smiled and waved because, well, we were all in it together, right?

As we passed today she gave me that nervous little smile she gives everyone that said, "I'm scared of everything, but you're my friend, right?"

That was when I realized that this was wrong and I had to avoid it at all costs.

Because it wasn't fair on them. Because none of them would want me watching them undress, and some like Melissa would literally die of embarrassment if they knew. No matter how I rationalized it, I was playing a dirty trick on these girls by invading their privacy in this way.

The fact that they would never know was immaterial.

Because I would know.

Which means all the bullshit excuses about being forced to be here just didn't wash because I knew that, if any of them realized who I really was inside - how I really felt about seeing them in their skimpys - they wouldn't want me to be there.

So I might get my rocks off by perving on the girls? News flash! My gonads are slightly missing right now! Physically, biochemically, socially, by whatever test you want to make, I am a girl and the only thing that defies this, the only thing that screams otherwise is my self image. What I think of myself.

Normally, if anyone called me a gentleman I would laugh in their face but I can see now that there is a very real code that guys can be expected to follow. It's more than just opening doors and pulling chairs out, it's about trust and although Melissa and all the other girls might never know what I'd done, I would.

Right now there are only three people in the world who know there's a boy inside here and Em and Rumi only know what I let them see. If I let this slip then I'm lost. Forever.

.

_**Prof. Dunsany**_

_It is important to note here that Miss Upton has finally articulated that she has sexual fantasies about other girls. It is confusing however that she blames Rumisiel for somehow taken these lesbian fantasies away from her. This seems at odds with references elsewhere that suggest that Rumisiel is the cause of her transexual confusion._

_I find Miss Upton's attitude in this section to be admirable in that she recognizes that it is morally questionable to 'take advantage' of others without their permission. This attitude however is the cause of an internal struggle to reconcile the awakening of her sexual awareness with her natural caring for her friends rights as individuals._


	8. Ash: Headshot!

**8**

**Headshot!**

(Between pages 50 - 51)

**Ash**

I nearly turned and ran just as I'd fled from the toilet earlier, but this time the press of girls behind me made escape impossible.

My first thought was to make it to one of the stalls to change but this time the tables were turned and it was my turn to wait. It was surprising that so many girls didn't like changing in front of other girls but it also meant I didn't stand out, waiting on the long central bench with the other shrinking violets, clutching my gym clothes.

In fact, anyone seeing my bright red face would have been forgiven for thinking I must be very shy when in fact it was because of the battle between my scruples and my natural inclinations. Even whilst I kept my eyes pinned to the door of the stalls in front of me, my mind was wandering over the female curves sitting so uncomfortably close on either side of me.

I swear to God that if either of them had actually touched me they would have been scraping me off the ceiling!

I felt like a fox in a hen house who was trying to fool himself that he was vegetarian! As if I were in a game where, if I caught sight of someone half-dressed, I lost points except... there was still that maniac in my head, straining at my not-so-iron will, who would have done a back flip if I had!

It seemed to take forever for a stall to come free and, because I was one of the last into the stalls to change, I was one of the last out into the gym. They were forming up teams as I got there but at least it was basketball, a sport that I knew I didn't totally suck at. I might not be the most athletic guy in the world, I was more into motor sports than track or field, but sports have got to be more fun than science or math. Surely basketball can't have changed, I thought.

This was girl's basketball though and, as I found a few minutes into the game, they aren't at all ladylike on the court. Some idiot passed me the ball early on and like an even bigger idiot I caught it, my reflexes taking over before my mind could say not to and I took off like a scalded rabbit down the wing, weaving my way through a confusion of squealing, screaming harpies!

Oh, but it gets better! Seconds after I started I discovered my next problem: I didn't know how to run like a girl!

How the Hell were you supposed to dribble a ball, dodging past opposing players with these two, independently sprung... _THINGS_ dancing around like a couple of demented ferrets in your shirt! I swear they had a life of their own! OK, maybe I'm exaggerating a little, but if I have to keep doing this, I'm getting the strongest sports bra they have as long as I don't have to actually go into a shop to get it!

My moment of glory with the ball was short-lived because, seemingly out of nowhere, a six foot tall Frankenchick jumped out to block me. I was suddenly faced with a determined Amazon, inches from me, arms out wide who looked like she was about to break me in two with a bear hug!

Was I afraid of a girl? Damn straight I was! I froze like a deer in headlights! Whether she captured it or I dropped it I don't know, but the next thing I knew she was gone and I was ball-less.

I spent the rest of the game trying to stay as far away from the action - and trying to minimize the disturbance in my shirtfront - as I could but there was no getting away from the fact that every fast movement brought an unsettling reminder of what I had become.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a great admirer of the female form and I love boobs... but on girls, not on me! You'll understand me then when I say that I was a little distracted for the rest of the match and that's probably why I didn't spot the headshot that took me out in the second half!

Well, maybe I might have been watching one of the other girls but c'mon, they were wearing clothes now!

Either way, the next thing I know I'm flat out with a circle of heads looking down at me, all of them concerned except one. There above me with a satisfied smirk on her face was my Nemesis from the morning.

Now that I could handle! It was the guy's code for solving minor problems. We were square now.

.

_**Lt. J.M.S.**_

_Next to the end of this entry in Miss Upton's diary, amongst a parts list for an engine repair, she has an entry: "Adamantium sports bra?_

.

_**Prof. Dunsany**_

_The combination of Miss Upton's aversion to being touched and her awakening sexuality seems to be combined in this fictional entry. Touching is often associated with affection, intimacy and sex in real life, as early as the childhood myth that girls can give boys "cooties" and vice versa. It is interesting to note that the only instances of human contact in this and the two previous entries are rough and border on violence - she spells it out in the last line that she feels she is most comfortable emulating the young male's characteristic "manly" roughness. _

_Time and again we see imagery of how she is uncomfortable her body, for example her inability to come to terms with her bust, probably because she resents its connotations of femininity and the psychosexual profiles that go along with it. The fiction evidences her desire to be a boy and yet, because of the mysterious "Misfile", she feels that she has been emasculated as can be evidenced by the Freudian slip in the middle._


End file.
